All The Things She Said
by PlonkerOnDaLoose
Summary: Blair said a lot of stupid things, so when she said she'd die for him, she hardly expected him to take her seriously - CB one-shot inspired by Blair's line in Ep3.18


**All The Things She Said **

_  
And I see you.  
And I feel you.  
And I hate you.  
But I'd die for you.  
I'd die for you.  
_'Die For You' – Megan McCauley

It's cold and late and Blair wants nothing more than her bed. Rain runs off the umbrella and she's dry in her perfect bubble world. Her feet are wet, from splashes. You can't make an omelette without breaking some eggs. She's standing outside her building, the door open, Pablo the doorman frowning at her under his black umbrella. But does she want to go up there? Serena and Nate are disgustingly happy. How come they worked out? How come they – other they – didn't? It wasn't that they didn't love each other.

_I never thought it was possible to love someone one too much– _

Everything in moderation. Less is more. Your eyes are bigger than your belly, than your heart, and your heart can only take so much.

_I would die for you– _

And she would have, died, for him, but he killed her. He smothered her with his love, held a pillow down over her face, kissed her into sleep.

She's said a lot of stupid things. Does it make her more stupid, if she meant them?

Blair hails a cab and heads downtown.

It's very late now, colder and wetter, and she's lost her shoes so her feet are very wet adn the umbrella seems a little pointless but it's Marc Jacob and one does not simply dispose of one's Marc Jacob umbrella just because it's pointless – and, actually, it's rather sensible, seeing as life is pointless; a pointless umbrella is the ultimate accessory. And why is life pointless?

(That's a rhetorical question, btw)

She can't quite remember where the shoes went. Maybe they grew legs and ran off? Abandoned her? Hardly a stretch of the imagination, that.

(Father, mother, Serena, Nate, Dorota, blank empty space, shoes)

Her thoughts taste like lemons but that could just be the acid rain.

The alley is empty, except for plastic bag ghosts and a sense of foreboding. The back door swings shut behind her. She steps on something sharp and stumbles backward. Arms catch her and it's a pity they're the same ones that pushed her off cliff. Chuck's no Superman, he can't move that fast. This catch – it doesn't count.

"Let go of me."

Chuck lets go.

Now Blair is very wet. He's looking down at her, looking down on her.

"What are you staring at?" she glowers. Standing up seemed like a good idea, but no.

He does that Chuck thing, where he pauses before speaking, to arrange his face. Or maybe he's just very stupid and it takes him a while to think of something to say.

"You."

"Why?"

"You're beautiful."

"I hate you. Remember."

He sings, "Liar, liar, pants on fire."

Blair doesn't understand. Her panties are not on fire. They're wet. From the large puddle she sits in. It's all very confusing. Chuck holds out his hand. Blair snarls, like a little cat.

Chuck rolls his eyes and looks very superior altogether. "C'mon. Don't be so obtuse."

"Chuck," Blair whispers. Now she's holding his hand, but it's not because she's wet and stuck on the ground (because she's not, stuck, not on the ground). "Chuck. Chuck. Chuck ..."

"Don't wear it out." He smirks because he can't see what she can.

There's this loud metal click and the rain comes down harder. Blair thinks it's going to wash her away, she'll be like one of those huge rocks – one day, just sand. So small. There's this metal click.

The man is shaking all over. His eyes are red. His teeth are black. The gun is rusted, silver. It grins a metal grin in the wet velvet night.

"Necklace. Wallet. Watch. Now."

Chuck does as he's told but Blair likes her necklace. It's the Erickson Beamon. _The_ Erickson Beamon.

Chuck gave it to her.

"Necklace, bitch, and I won't shoot you in the face."

"Blair ..." Chuck's voice is very low. Blair wonders vaguely where her shoes are. "Blair. Just give it to him."

Blair frowns. "But this one is special."

Chuck gave it to her on her birthday.

"I'll buy you a new one. Just, Blair, please, give him the– " metal click " –fucking necklace."

Chuck gave it to her on her birthday, an eye for a heart, because that's what he got in return. But it wasn't the diamonds that bought her – because Blair Waldorf could not be _bought_ like some cheap call girl with imitation lingerie – it was the apology.

_I am so sorry–_

She's sorry too. Sorry she can't find her shoes because she wants to go home, away from Chuck, because it hurts to watch her heart beat in someone else' hands. She kept the necklace, he kept her heart.

"Go away, Chuck," she whispers, bowing her head against the rain. Water collects in her cupped hands and slips, a cold waterfall, onto her lap. There's movement – grabbing at her throat – and shouting and this metal BANG, like thunder in a bathtub. There's this horrible wet tearing sound, the salty stench of blood.

It's too late now, and the cold bites like a mad dog.

She cradles him close and her lap is soaked twice over, hot and red. It's amazing, how much blood for such a little hole. Her hands cover it twenty times over, but she can't keep it in. The Erickson Beamon lies in the rain, broken. Like a fallen star. Lights and sounds that belong to another world are pushing close, red and blue, turning the diamonds into rubies and sapphires.

All she can ask is, "_Why?_"

"You said you'd die for me."


End file.
